Ice Queen

‘You’re my Ice Queen’

he murmured in my ear

Pulling close the quilt so I would be warm

his arms locked around me

holding me in close comfort,

providing me with care.

Within his arms I melt,

my desires rising to match his

without him I feel as though the landscape changes

the vibrancy is gone

and I am lost in the greys and shadows that develop.

I feel secure within his embrace

craving more, not for romance or care

but because he is safe.

He is where I turn when the world becomes too much

for in his arms I find a sheltered haven

as he batters away the storms.

I lay my head upon his chest

listening to his heart beat

counting each one as the warmth of his body

seeps into mine.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

June 23/17

 

 

 

Succubus

Sultry seduction

walking through alleys of neon.

Scarlet shoes crush shards of glass

as she carries on.

The stench of tar, low brow

follows in her wake.

Tattered gown and vile detection

her glance behind assures I am hidden.

Slithering through the shadows

a haunted man, a ghoul caught

Ensnared by the succubus.

I only sought to be free.

How could no one see?

I mused, I mourned, for her eyes are blood red

Horns curl high above

but none see but a broken whore

close to falling.

My hand curls round the blade placed at my waist

as I follow further along the path

noticing not the fading light

the lack of commerce or even friendly folk.

Within the glade she first found me

we danced a delicate death

I knew now that there was no recourse

That all I could do is submit

for she is mine…….

and I am hers……..

to feed, to soothe, to be.

Forgive me father.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

June 20/17

Who knew I could smell so bad?

This is my week with T.  Wednesday I was suddenly struck cold, right through to the bone. I even pulled the heater out at work when I was covering my second’s break because I was so cold. Went home, slept, went and picked up K and came home to T. In the evening it wasn’t so bad. But it hit hard over night. I awoke drenched in sweat my hair could almost be wrung out. Gross right? Well I felt worse.

I called in. Something that I had promised myself the last time that I was going to avoid doing for the next six months. I moved and my head throbbed, my eyes squinting because the light was too bright. I had blinds closed, glasses off and it was painful. My hips, my legs, my back ached. I slept almost all day. I did not take T to soccer. Ordered him pizza for supper because I could not move to cook. I have never felt so helpless and useless a mother as at this point.

T tucked me in and gave me his stuffed puppy to cuddle with. Along with his blanket. His dad knew I was ill so he picked him up and off to soccer they went. Home at 8:30 I tell him his bedtime is 9:30 and I am trusting him. He was in bed at 9:30. Friday a.m. I woke up again covered in sweat and my sleep had been so disjointed but I had to go to work. I groused and groaned and snivelled and groused some more, but off we went.

I am glad that I went in. I pushed through my day and as I did I began to feel so much better. By the end of my shift I was no longer forcing my smile or my laughter. Not cured mind you as my head was still throbbing. I made T clean up the floor because it hurt to bend over and pick up the mess on the floor. Hint 2 I was feeling better: the mess that had accumulated in two days of being ill, was annoying me.

Woke up this morning feeling good. Wee headache but livable. Only to discover that T puked in the middle of the night. He also had a wee accident. And he was cold.

It is Summer in the City in our city this weekend. He had to go. ‘Mom I am fine.’

I caved. He pushed through it. I am going to say this kid has way more stamina than I do. I do believe he is built like his chichi and refuses to allow illness to deny or keep him from anything.

As we are walking home, holding hands, I know yet again my guy isn’t feeling very good. Because what healthy 8 year old boy wants to be seen holding his mother’s hand as they walk down the street? He is also complaining that his legs are aching.  ‘Mom when we get home I just want to lay down on your couch.’

As I am sitting at the computer T is laying on the couch. He has not eaten yet, another indication of illness. I look over and use the bribe food: ‘Hey if I make mac and cheese you gonna have some?’ ‘Sure mom.’

Okay, and he is warming up. Maybe he is like chichi and not his wimpy mommy when it comes to sickness.

I start making the mac and cheese and he is patiently waiting. I am playing on the computer, minding my own business, eye on the timer when all of a sudden……pooot poooooot poooot pppppoooooot ppppppppppoooooooooot.

I look over at T with wide eyes and say what was that? Like I don’t know.

T stares at me I think in slight suprise. And than I am guessing that the smell hit him. His face twitched, he gasped and said ‘I didn’t know I could smell like this mom!’

And I laughed as I got up to stir the noodles and said ‘and you can’t even get away from it.’

****T did attempt to get me to smell said disgusting fart by insisting he required a kiss. I held my breath until far enough away.

 

Who I am as a Writer

That is the fun about exploring who cares if it matches or makes sense?

Of late I have found myself reading posts and forums on the work of writing. How outlines must be created, chapters briefly explained. How every day one must sit down at a certain time and write a certain amount of words. I read these words and I am at a loss to understand.

I am not that type of a writer. I cannot do outlines. I cannot set aside time every day at a set time to write.  I write when my voices speak to me. I have no control over what I write because I am only the conduit for my characters.

Does that sound odd? I have always been lost to my characters. I can write no outlines because I do not know where the story is going. I cannot control much beyond finding pen and paper or my phone to write on if they decide to talk to me when I am not at home and have my computer handy.

My email is filled with little notes to myself from my characters. Not because I believe that they are truly sending me emails but because some times they let me know of a small but important factor of the story not yet told. And so I email myself that note so as to not lose it and every time I open up to check other emails, there is it re-reminding me of their intent.

My first draft will include everything that my characters want it to include. The second draft will be a parsing of the first draft. In some cases whole chapters will be rewritten or deleted as unnecessary. Third draft a little more cutting and reshaping. The story is still all theirs I am just modifying with their assistance. Fourth draft, by than we have found our voice and the story speaks strongly. This is based on my experience of writing a novel in high school.

My characters stopped coming to me when I become not me. Twenty some long years while they remained silent. My poetry was my only outlet but it was written in bursts of heartache and pain. Depression and naked vitriol. Since becoming the saner happier version of myself, my characters are returning in full force. They are awakening and boy oh boy are they rarin’ to go.

I look at my writing today and I love where it is going. I am never going to be famous because of my words and I probably never will make enough money that would allow me to retire from my job and write full time. But I will write. And I will create. Because for me, like the Bards of times passed, it is the story and the characters that call to me and draw me in.

I chose to share my writing in part due to a fellow blogger who pushed and kicked me into joining WordPress. Also, I finally am in a space in my life where I am proud of how I write and I want others to enjoy it. I do not seek acclaim (a wee bit of praise is nice lol but just knowing others see my posts is validation) for I finally am writing in freedom and peace, and I am loving it.

 

Addiction

He stood over the abyss, toes curled against rock

the thirst, the hunger

the anger, the hatred

eating at his soul.

Within his mind bruised the words

of mobs chasing

who thought they were better

who thought they should know.

On his knees he crawled through filth and muck

weeping tears that none could see.

A sneer twists his lips,

wicked words that punish those

who thought they knew best

who thought they knew more.

A false thought of flight

as he jumps forth to the air

waiting for the rescue

he was certain was near.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

June 16/17

Devouring My Soul

The space was cavernous,

sparkles hidden high in the ceilings depth

throughout it her voice was soft and liquid

a sensuous lover

caressing each and everyone of us.

‘Close your eyes my dearest

and from your minds we will see

memories and laughter light

a budding of thee.’

A collective sigh as each was touch

the gentlest of words whispered

the tension the stress the anger

all began to fade and dissipate.

‘From here we see a boy and his puppy

each chasing a ball’

‘Over here a young girl blossoming

her self becoming so much more.’

‘Look here as he creates so carefully

the models and images of his mind.’

‘See there, the girl who fought for it all

whose dreams are still in the making.’

Deep thunder rolls through the cavern

the walls, the pews tremble

Everyone cries out in fear

as her voice begins to soar.

Wicked ice, and bitterness boil over her tongue

turning each memory into a nightmare.

‘You terrorized that boy and his dog,

laughing at their expense.

Your hatred and bigotry have marked thee

bend before the prince.’

‘The girl you raped and pillaged

showing it all on social media

she has found you time and time again

and she has made you repent.’

With each word spoken the chill did grow.

As all realized what had been done.

Her tone a whiplash tearing at the skin

gripping the side of the podium.

Leaning forward, flames wreathing her eyes

and a blood red smile on her lips.

‘The young man who could have been our saviour

mocked and spurned

For he spoke truths you could not see

and in the darkness did death glean.’

Her ire grew

the shadows flaring on walls as fire reared

the audience pinned to their chairs

shackled hand and foot.

‘As for that girl who fought for it all

before you she stands

and just so you know you all shall fall

for my dreams are still coming true

even when it means the devouring of my soul.’

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

June 16/17

Untitled 9

Bitter tears and twisted smiles

ashes within my mouth

hidden daggers sheathed in my soul

tangled words you should not have spoken.

Cruel lies whispered with disdain

chains that wrapped and held

close me in this nightmarish hell

and abandon me with nary a farewell.

I will rise from the flames you consigned me to

better and stronger than before

and when I do you need to be aware

and search the shadows for the animal

you did create.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

June 11/17